The Life of the White Ring
by CaChrisSo
Summary: It's funny how life can change so quickly. It can be frightening, exhilarating and many other things. You only learn just how funny it can be, how frightening it can be, when it's your life that's changing. (Eventual MerlinXOC)
1. Prologue

Right, so I know I shouldn't be starting another story, what with me taking a lot of time to write Magic & Myths, but you see, I have many characters running about in my head, and it's ver hard to please them. So I wrote this chapter, and if there is enough interest, or at least a bit of interest, and people want me to continue the story, then I shall. Eventually. Fingers crossed. Just a heads up, though. The Merlin bit of the story won't happen for quite a while, not for a few chapters, anyway.

Apologies!

* * *

I like to remember my father the way he looked when he was in court. Strong. Courageous. As if nothing could ever throw him, or bring him to his knees. He was a good king, a great king. His subjects loved him. His Queen, my mother, and his other wives all loved him too. My brothers, sisters and I loved him. The whole of Eriú loved him.

Well, I suppose that's a slight exaggeration on my part. Every king has his enemies. And my father certainly had enemies.

For a few years, my father's reign was nothing but peaceful. The land was bountiful, rich with food, and people, and culture and magic. Of course, this could never last.

My family's troubles all began over a book. Yes, a book. They seem like the least troubling things in the world, a method of escaping from reality. But a book was what caused the fighting, and ultimately the death of thousands of people. The story of the book begins like this:

A monk called Colmcille copied another monk, Uinniau of Moville's manuscript. Of course, Uinniau objected, and said that the copy belonged to him. To settle their disagreement, they brought the matter up to my father, Diarmait mac Cerbaill, the Ard Rí na hEriú.

I was present when my father made his decision. He listened to both sides of the story, and when everything was said, he adjudged in Uinniau's favour, putting his decision simply as "to every cow its calf and to every book its copy." There was no other appropriate decision, some believe. Colmcille made the copy without permission from the owner, and therefore, it did not belong to him. Colmcille stated that the copying of the manuscript needed to be done for the future of the church, but it was all for naught.

Colmcille sought revenge, and went looking for support from his kinsmen among the Cenél Conaill and the Cenél nEógain of the northern Uí Néill. They all agreed to go to war with my father.

The battle was held at a place called Cúl Dreimne, a remote place. On one side, there were the supporters of Colmcille, among them his kinsmen, and people who were against the Old Religion. On the other side, were my father, his people, and his druids, believers in both the Old and the New Religion. Colmcille fought supposedly with God on his side, and my father, with nothing but 'superstition and heretical Gods.'

Maybe fate was just not on his side. He lost 3000 men that day, and Colmcille's supporters lost one.

After that battle, my father was never the same. He grew distant, and gloomy. Eithne once said she feared he was not long for this world. Of course, my father had fought in battles before, and he fought in battle long afterwards, but none affected him the same way the Battle of Cúl Dreimne, the Battle of the Book, had.

But Colmcille was not my father's nemesis, or his downfall. He was, in fact, my cousin and the precursor of worse to come. No, my father's nemesis, so to speak, was a man called Áed Dub mac Suibni.

Áed was king of the Cruithnig, and long before I or my siblings were born, was the foster child of my father. The only reason my father gave for their falling out was that it was over a woman, as most fallings out between men seem to be.

When Áed had reached manhood and long after he had returned home to his parents, he asked my father if he could ask for the hand of a daughter of the Conmhaicne, a great and ancient tribe that were spread and divided and scattered over the entirety of Eriú. Father allowed him to do so, and Áed picked a bright and beautiful woman, whose name remained unknown to me throughout the tale. Although while with my father, Áed had been taught to understand, appreciate and be in awe of the magic of the druids, the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Sidhe, in the time he had been gone, he had learned to hate it, to despise it and worst of all, to strike it down at any opportunity.

Although having magic was not considered a thing to sing about at the top of your voice, it also was not hidden and to have magic was considered both a blessing from God and a gift from the Tuatha Dé Danann throughout the land . It was not widely known that my father had magic, or that most of the members of the court at Tara had magic. It was also not widely known, unfortunately, that the bright and beautiful woman who was to be Áed's bride had magic.

She and Áed were wed, and within their first year of marriage, she gave birth to a daughter. The woman had hidden all signs of her magic from Áed, and would have continued to have succeeded in her endeavour had her daughter been born without magic. One morning, Áed awoke to see his child using her powers to float several objects around the room for her own entertainment. To say he was shocked would be an understatement. To say that he was now disgusted by the very mention of his child wouldn't be.

He cornered his wife, demanded she explain herself, and only managed to get an answer out of her, in the form of a blast of powerful magic, when he went to attack her. His answer received, Áed dragged his wife with their child in her arms to the dungeons, where they would await their death.

It seemed that the things Áed knew about his wife were considerably fewer than what he didn't know. He did not know what her favourite colour was. He did not know her mother's name. He did not know that in her time living at his fort, she had endeared herself to the entire court and the many staff that lived and worked in it. And he did not know that when growing up, she had become great friends with a man who supported, believed in and had magic, the man who had given his consent to their marriage, my father.

Through the staff, she managed to get a message to my father about her predicament, and he, along with the woman's father, set off at once to rescue her. My father never went into detail about what happened when they arrived. He only ever said that the child survived and was now being cared for and loved by a new family. Whenever it was asked, most often by my brother, Colmán Bec, whether the woman lived or not, my father would gain a distant look in his eyes and a stormy expression on his face, and that's where the tale ended.

Apparently, Áed did not appreciate my father saving his child, and afterwards, my father's name was nothing but a curse on his lips. The grudge he held for my father led to what inevitably was my father's death, and the destruction of my family.

* * *

All the character's in this chapter are historical, except for the narrator. Granted, their timeline doesn't match Arthur's and Merlin's (it's off by about 50 years), but I didn't think that would matter much. Does it? Anyway, so yes, they're historical figures, and the land of Eriú is Ireland, but back then, Ireland had a few names. The reason for the difficulties between Diarmait and Áed are made up to suit the story.

This will sound like begging, but if you like the sound of this story, please, please, please tell me! In a review, maybe, or a PM. Please! :D


	2. Beginning

My story or rather, an excerpt of it begins on the same day that Diarmait's, my father, ended. Outside, it was snowing, and a blustery wind whirled fleeting snowflakes through the dim, but luminescent moonlight. I was making my way to my mother's chambers, to help her prepare for bed. The torch lights had long since blown out, ad my thin cloak was failing to protect me from the cold. Shivering, I kindly nodded at each guard as I passed and each nod was returned with a bow. People were still bustling about the courtyard, even though it had been many hours since the sun had set. As I walked, I listened to the almost-silence that surrounded me, and I was calm and at peace with the world.

That peace, however, was fragile and easily broken. Suddenly, three riders burst through the fort gates, cantering hastily towards the castle doors. I recognised the men to be three of my father's men, and I was alarmed by their appearance. One had the beginnings of a black eye, and many scratches on his face. One bore a nasty burn on his upper cheek, and seemed to be missing a part of his scalp. I watched the last dismount, and noticed he had a terrible limp, probably because his leg appeared to be turned in a different direction to the one it normally faced. He had a slash in his tunic and a stream of red liquid flowed from this gap.

Shocked, I steadily approached the three, immediately begin to think of spells that could help and heal the men. Only when I was in breathing distance of the nearest of their horses did I notice a fourth man, lying on his stomach across the front of one saddle. This man was in the worst shape, by far. His entire form seemed broken, his limbs limp and arranged in different patterns. The back of his skull was caved in, and a pool of blood had developed on the floor beneath his head. The guards must have realised who he was before I did, because at once, they all rushed towards me, some assisting the weary and injured riders, some formed a protective stance in front of me, and some began to lift the poor man off the horse.

Immediately, I noticed his glassy blue eyes, which led me to gaze at his hair, which had previously been a glossy red, but had now been turned a murky brown by the blood, and in turn towards his pale skin, now swollen and bruise covered. The thing that finally clued me in was the druidic symbol that hung around his neck on a chain, and I soon heard a blood-curdling scream. Only later did I realise it was my own. I then broke down in sobs at the sight of my father's near-unrecognizable, undeniably dead corpse.

The next few minutes are mostly a blur, of which only a brief and confused account I can give. I felt myself being hoisted from the ground (I must have fallen), and being rushed somewhere.

I passed wall after stony wall, and suddenly found myself in my father's court room, where sat my brothers, Colman Már and Áed, my father's wives, Mugain, Eithne, Brea and Be Binn, and a number of the court including my father's most trusted advisors, and two of the court druids, Ciallmhar and Críonna. I was sat in a chair near my father's throne and felt, rather than saw, my mother enter the room.

My mother is one of those women who just exude power. You can feel it before she even enters the room. I don't know whether this is because of her wise and leader-like personality, or because of her magic. She still managed to appear calm and in control, even when wearing nothing but her nightclothes, and having obviously been rushed out of bed. She did not wait for me to help her get ready for sleep, it seemed.

She approached me and began to run her fingers through my hair softly as the least injured of the three men who had been with my father recounted his tale.

On an annual journey around Eriú, which father had only just started, my father and his three men came to the hall of Banbán at Ráith Bec. Because my mother had refused to go, Banbán offered his daughter to my father for the night. (All the women in the room visibly stiffened at this.) He also gave my father a flax nightshirt, ale and pork. I heard Ciallmhar murmur in astonishment, "The prophecy."

I spoke up at this, "What prophecy?" I asked my throat dry from my keening.

Ciallmhar looked uncomfortable, before he hesitantly began to answer. "You have been told of Bec mac Dé?"

I shook my head. He frowned. "But that is an essential part of your studies in sorcery. What are they teaching these-?"

"Now is not the time, Ciallmhar." Mother interrupted his complaint, with a cold, but controlled look on her face.

A pained expression took over Ciallmhar. "My apologies, mo Bhanríon. As I was saying, Banphrionsa, Bec mac Dé was a powerful sorcerer, and the greatest seer to be found on this isle, if not of all time. He could speak with nine men at once and answer all their questions with one reply, and his prophecies were never wrong. Bec prophesised that your father, An Ard Rí, would die a threefold death; He would be drowned, burned, and have his head crushed by a roof beam, by Áed Dub mac Suibni, in the house of Banbán, on a night he wore a shirt grown from a single flax seed, drank ale brewed from a single grain of corn, and ate pork from a sow that had never farrowed."

"But how do you that my father's death was anything to do with this prophecy?"

"Well, it would be a very large coincidence if your father died in the home of Banbán on the one night he wore a shirt of flax, drank ale and ate pork."

"But he does that every ni-!"

"No, he does not! A Shoilse wore clothes made from the finest sheep's wool, drank mead and ate beef from one of his many prize cows every night."

"Does any of this matter?" My mother screeched, halting our argument. "My husband, our king, is dead, and our children have lost their father, and you two our bickering about what he used to nightly before he- he die-!"

Mother began to break down in tears, and Mugain, my father's chief wife after my mother approached and began to console, holding her in her embrace while tears silently made their way down her own face. At any other time, I would have been stunned by this, for my mother and Mugain often disagreed and glared daggers at each other.

"Why don't we settle this disagreement," Críonna suggested, her voice as soft as a lamb's coat, "Pól, how did Diarmait die?"

Pól, the youngest of the three men, looked warily at my mother through one dark grey eyes, his other was now nothing but a red angry looking bruise. "I do not think a description of the death of a Shoilse would be the best thing to do right now. I do not wish to disturb any of the women and children in this room."

Áed, my eldest brother stood up from his seat and placed a tentative hand on Pól's shoulder, looking afraid that it might break off. "Pól, we need to know. For father's sake."

Pól once more looked in my mother's direction, and she gave a brisk nod, somewhat calm again. He took a breath and continued the story from where his commander had left off.

"A Shoilse went to bed, after dinner. About an hour afterwards, he rushed back to us, speaking of a prophecy," Ciallmhar's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Seconds after this, chaos ensued. Men began to stream through the door, dozens of them, and Diarmait tried to escape through an adjoining door, while we held the men off. But Aed Dub stood in the doorway, with a spear in his hand, and a fearsome smile upon his face. He-he stabbed the king, and would have finished him off if an Ard Rí had not reacted by slamming the door in his path. Then Áed Dub's men to set the house alight. A Shoilse tried to hide, for he could not fight without his sword, in a vat of ale, but the flames had acted fast in weakening the structure of Banbán's home and a roof beam…. A roof beam fell upon his head, killing him instantly."

My mother's sobs began again, and my father's wives along with my brothers bore not a dry eye. Silence fell, and not a sound was heard for many minutes until Colmán Bec ran into the room excitedly.

He leapt into his mother Brea's arms and asked loudly, "An bhfuil aonach ag súil taobh amuigh?"

"Níl," Brea answered, confused. "Cén fath?"

"Chuala mé a lán de torann."

Hearing this, Áed sent two guards to check outside. Minutes later, we heard the screams.

* * *

I thought I might as well out up chapter 2 seeing as it's done.

Notes:

An bhfuil aonach ag súil taobh amuigh? = Is there a fair going on outside?

Níl = No

Cén fath? = Why?

Chuala mé a lán de torann = I heard a lot of noise

A Shoilse = His majesty

Mo Bhanríon = My queen

An Ard Rí = the High King

Banphrionsa = Princess

If I failed to spot any words that need translating, just leave a review, or PM me! :)

CaChrisSo


	3. Journey's start

Writing Merlin is quite easy compared to HP/PJ. I've no clue why, it just is. I'm so tired, and my muse has lately been filled with non-fanfiction fiction. So I'm gonna start writing the next PJ chapter, and then this, then work on all the other ideas I have with the little amount of time I have. You'd having a kind of year off school would give you time, but apparently not. So here you go. If it's crap, I'm really sorry. Like really.

* * *

From inside, we could see flames flickering in all the wrong places in the courtyard and dozens of armed riders galloping in. The fort we were in wasn't as well defended as Tara, but we had had to leave Tara, because of the supposed curse.

As the men and their horses neared the castle, Mother began to panic, along with the other women. Áed kissed his wife, and with two guards, went outside to help, but not before he told the rest of the men in the room to look after us women. I couldn't help but scoff tearfully at that. I've been in trained with a sword and bow almost since my infancy, and defensive magic often feels as natural as breathing.

Quietly, I slipped out of the throne room, and ran to my chambers, where I began to dress in more appropriate clothes for fighting. But I hadn't left unnoticed, apparently. Just as I began to tighten the belt holding my sword around my waist, my mother walked in the door.

"Mother, I must fight, for father." I told her, with as much conviction as I could muster in my voice.

"You cannot, Fionnait, you must flee."

"Run away? And leave Áed and the rest of his men to fight? They don't have magic; I could help them, protect them."

"I cannot let you. You are the reason we are being ambushed."

I can't pretend that didn't hurt. My own mother, accusing me, blaming me for our temporary home being attacked. But I must not have hid how hurt I was well, because immediately she softened.

"I do not mean it like that. Those men have come to hurt you, and have been looking for you since you were born, since your mother died."

"But…you're my mother….Are you not?" I asked, incredulous.

She wrapped me warmly in her arms, but I couldn't respond, couldn't feel her heat. All I could do was stiffen with the sudden cold.

"I love you as much as any child I could have. But you are not mine, not through blood."

I stared at her, mouth wide open, eyes dry. I had cried enough tonight.

"My being here endangers everyone."

She looked stricken, but she couldn't disagree.

"So, I must lure them away." I continued.

She looked as if she was about to argue, but I cut her off. "I shall, and you cannot stop me, a Mháthair. Once I am ready and prepared, I shall ride away on Aenbharr and get them to follow me so that everyone here is safe."

"But you won't be!" She cried, "You will leave, but in secret. I will not let you die. I cannot lose you too."

I watched my mother, no, _not_ my mother, wipe her eyes, and compose herself.

"You will leave on Aenbharr. Ride towards the coast. There have been plans in place for many years. There will be a boat. A man will guide you across the water, and from there you will make your way to Camelot. Uther will keep you safe, so long as you keep your magic a secret. Understood?"

When she was like this, all regal and all powerful, it was hard to argue with her.

"Understood."

"Now go, out through the window, so that no one sees you."

I grabbed my things, and put them into a simple brown bag. With a sword, bow and arrow across my back, and a cloak around my shoulders, I was ready. I strode to the window and saw Aenbharr standing alone beneath. An Bhanríon had been busy.

I hitched a leg over the ledge, and prepared for the jump. I took what would probably be my last look at my mother, and smiled. "Tá grá agam duit, a Mháthair."

She blew me a kiss, just as a cold grey blade protruded out of her middle.

I screamed and leapt. Thankfully, my chambers were not high up, so only bruised my ankle a little when I landed. I climbed atop Aenbharr, glad that I had changed out of my dress into a practical, but small pair of breeches.

* * *

I walked Aenbharr silently to the gates, so as not to draw attention. I tried so hard not to cry, so hard not to react to the screams of pain emitted by my people. Then and there, I almost gave up and I would have rushed into the fight. But my mother, who wasn't really my mother, but was, was gone, and she wanted me safe. It felt like an insult to her if I went against what were now her last wishes.

So, with a heavy heart, I put Aenbharr into a gallop, towards the shore. It was cold, so cold I was afraid my tears would freeze. Slowly, the large span of water came into view, like a large sheet of mirrored glass on the horizon. As we neared, I saw a man, smoking a pipe, and leaning against an old, shabby boat, and watching our approach.

Cautiously, I trotted towards him. He wasn't young, but he wasn't old. He was almost ageless, with short black hair, vibrant green eyes and unusually long arms. He was dressed like a warrior, but a warrior of old and he made me feel incredibly inferior, just by breathing the same air as him. Magic emitted from him like electricity, full of ferocity and fire. He frightened me. I wondered was he already waiting because he was prophetic or because my poor Mamaí had sent word.

"So," He began, breathing in deeply through his pipe, "You're Gwendolyn."

"No, sorry, I haven't been called that since-"

"Since you were last in Camelot, yes, I know. I know everything."

"Surely that's impossible."

"A bit, yeah. The horse is a bit big for the boat, y'know."

I looked down upon my steed, and realised he was right. Aenbharr was a big boy. But not big enough that magic couldn't help.

I got off of Aenbharr, and untacked him, placing all of his tack into the boat. With a simple nod, and flash of bronze in my eyes, Aenbharr became the size of a large dog.

The mysterious man gave what seemed to be a nod of approval and gracefully entered the boat.

With a large puff of air, I struggled to lift Aenbharr, who had shrunk but had not decreased in weight, into the boat, and then clambered in myself.

My eyes were incredibly sore, and when I reached up to wipe them dry, I found that, unsurprisingly, my tears had frozen into perfect crystal droplets. Amazingly, they didn't melt in the palm of my hand, but seemed to harden.

"They're real gems now."

Startled, I looked up. We were already sailing. The man pointed towards my hand.

"They won't melt, and they'll never break. It's a simple bit of magic."

I realised he must have done it. "Thank you."

"You should sleep now. We'll be there by dawn."

I lay my head down on Aenbharr's small flank, and with the evidence of my sorrow clutched in my hand, I let the rolling waves put me to sleep.

* * *

Tá grá agam duit, a Mháthair = I love you, Mother

Reviews are love, people, and like any human (except sherlock) I crave love. So please! Same goes for PJ, and other stories I'll write.

Love ye!

CaChrisSo


	4. Ar Luas Lasrach (As fast as lightning)

It is ridiculously easier to write for Merlin than it is Percy Jackson/Harry Potter. I have no clue why. Anyway, just an update on my other story, things are coming along slowly. It will be Harry Potter eventually, it'll alternate between the two.

Anyway this is mainly a filler chapter, so it's shorter than the rest, but I'm quite happy with it.

Disclaimer: My first (oops), I obviously do not own Merlin. (No matter how many times I pray.)

* * *

When I awoke, I was alone, and Aenbharr was his correct size. The boat was firmly wedged into the sand of a completely different shore to the one it had left. I stood up wearily, and went to stretch, but the movement caused a flare of pain across my midriff that was so intense, I almost cried with the agony.

I gazed down, and seemingly out of nowhere, a long and jagged slash that tore from one side of my stomach to the other appeared. Where had that come from? I had not fought anyone. I cursed, there was no way I could heal this, my healing magic was mediocre at best, and it was always recommended by the court sorcerers that a wound should never be healed by the recipient, for they would be under too much pain and stress to heal it properly, and would most likely make it worse. It would have to wait for now.

Aenbharr had long stepped out of the boat, and had just watched me the entire time. Now, he trudged through the wet sand towards me, and placed his head against my hand, as if to comfort me. I tenderly placed a kiss on his brow, and bent slightly to pull his tack out of the boat.

"You'll have to wait for a rubdown, a chara, until we reach Camelot."

Tacking him was a struggle. Reaching up to place his saddle correctly, bending to tie his girth. Every movement hurt, every breath stung. When Aenbharr was 'dressed', I went to use the rickety boat as a step up but sensing my discomfort, he sat himself on the ground so I could get up more easily. I had always wondered how my horse was so…insightful. When I was given him as a young girl, I thought he was magical. I thought that he was the magical great horse Enbarr that could travel both land and sea. So I named him after Enbarr. It was clear to me now that he never could be Enbarr. As if his master would ever let him leave his side.

Sat on Aenbharr at so low a height, I was now able to see a carving in the boats side that before would have been unnoticeable. It read Sguaba Tuinne. Wave sweeper. A chill quickly ran down my spine but I ignored it. Almost immediately, Aenbharr stood up, and I urged him onwards. To Camelot.

I had not been to Camelot in many years, but I still knew the path like the lines on my hand. Aenbharr was galloping as fast as he could, and a cloth was pressed tightly against my wound, but there was little I could do to staunch the flow of blood.

Lights seemed to flicker before my eyes, and I fumbled with the reins and the neck strap, desperate not to fall off.

Minutes, perhaps hours, passed, and the white top I had been wearing was now stained a bright red, which continued to spread. It was chilly, and my cloak barely kept out the cold. I wished I had changed into a warmer one. I wished Camelot would hurry up and appear.

Suddenly, as if someone had been listening to my inner thoughts, a great white brick fortress rose up in the horizon, like the morning sun, and grew bigger and closer with every one of Aenbharr's strides. The pain in my stomach grew worse, and the rose-coloured patch on my shirt turned darker and darker still.

Aenbharr slowed his pace, and the rocking gait he took up felt like it could lull me to sleep. Instead, I sat up straighter in my seat, and fought a terrible and great battle of dominance with my eyelids.

The guards watched me as I neared, and nodded at me as we passed through the gates.

The city was filled with bright colours, and people covered every spare inch. It was a happier Camelot than the last I had visited.

At a slow trot, we reached the heart of the city, where the Castle with its many occupants dwelt.

A passing knight noticed me and approached. I had hardly any strength in my body left, so I couldn't even attempt to dismount. The knight was tall, with a trimmed beard and short, curly light ginger hair. Although he had changed, Leon had not changed vastly. The only difference I saw was the fact he could actually grow a beard, and an increase in height.

"Milady," His tone was strong, and kind. "Are you alright?"

I decided to be as honest as possible. "No, not really." I gasped out with the pain. "I've been stabbed, and I must see the King." Even though Uther hates magic, he was a good friend of my father, and I am sure he will help me.

I watched Leon steadily lower his gaze to my stomach and his face blanched.

"Milady, I think you should see the court physician first. Your wound is deep and you appear to be losing blood rather quickly."

"Seeing the King is more important."

"But Milady—."

"Leon, what's going on?"

And then it appeared. That big, massive, stupid, blessed blonde head.

His smile disappeared as quickly as the darkness came.

* * *

Guess who?! :D

Anyway, hope you liked it!

Review, Follow, whatevs!

:D

Love you lots like jelly tots!

Peace!

CaChrisSo


	5. Worry

A/N: New Chapter! Wooh! Sorry for the wait, my brain juices weren't flowing! :D Thank you to all who have reviewed so far, every single one means so much!

Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin (sadly)

* * *

Arthur

I didn't recognise her at first. It had been almost five years since I had last spoken to her, and she had changed from a gawky redheaded 15-year-old girl, into a petite and lithe 19-year-old woman, with red hair that could rival the brightness of the sun. Once I did, the joy that had begun to fill me vanished rapidly as I noticed the large, _gaping_ wound in her side. Instinct took over as I saw her droop in her seat. In a flash, I was beside her horse, and I bundled her gently into my arms.

I explained to Leon, who was by now quite worried, and slightly befuddled. "Gwendolyn. Fionnait. She's grown." Leon's eyes widened in recognition, and he exclaimed, with horror hidden deep in his voice. "What has happened, that she has come here, on her own, in such a state?"

I grimaced, and I remembered the small body in my arms. "Come," I announced, "We must get her to Gaius."

In reality, Gaius' chambers are some of the closest to the courtyard. The journey felt like one of the longest treks I had ever taken. And, as another point, even though she looked as light as a feather, she certainly wasn't.

Eventually, _eventually_, Gaius' door appeared and Leon opened the door for us to enter. The sound startled Gaius, who was hunched over his notes as usual, filling his mind, I assume, with all sorts of knowledge and information. Gaius, of course, had no trouble recognising her (she probably hadn't changed in the slightest in his eyes), and soon, his table was clear, and my old friend was laid out, like a small feast.

"I'd put her on one of the beds, but they're all occupied." Gaius said, wearily. "Some of the knights are still recovering after the Wyvern's attack. Anyway, it is much easier for me to work on the table, although it is hardly fit for a princess."

He slowly began to pull up her blouse, and Leon and I looked away from her, to at least keep her dignity intact, since her skin was not. I instead focused on Gaius' face.

Gaius took in a quick breath, and the shock was evident. "What happened to her?" He asked, quietly.

"I do not know. When she arrived, she asked to speak to Arthur, and said that she had been stabbed." Leon answered.

"She came alone."

"Yes."

By now, her blouse was pulled far up her torso. The wound looked so much worse out in the open, a lot bigger. Gaius began to clean the gash slowly, and her skin began to turn from a bright crimson to the lightest of pinks.

"There must be trouble in Tara," I said, clearing my throat a little. "There is no other reason that she would travel here in this condition."

Gaius met my eyes with his own, one eyebrow crooked upward. "You think that she has come for your help."

"Fionnait hardly asks for help. But yes."

"We should wait until she has woken up, Sire." Leon interjected. "To find out the full story."

"Good idea, Leon." I agreed. "Gaius, I leave her in your capable hands. I'll send Merlin down to you, if you are in need of his assistance."

Gaius nodded, not distracted from his work.

Gaius

The wound was not a normal wound. That much was clear. It was too clean, too linear. I could _feel_ the magical residue surrounding it. Luckily, even though Magic had been the cause, it would heal easily, with time and care.

I worried for her kingdom, and her family. She had never visited Camelot alone, but had always come with her father. Perhaps all was not well with her father. They would find out soon enough.

Merlin

Oh, sometimes I hate that _clotpole_! It's so typical of him. His birthday is next week, and rather than be excited by it, he's spent the entire day in a foul mood. And I've tried to make him feel better, by being obedient and quiet for once, or by trying to make him laugh, but to no avail. Instead, the prathead dumped me in it, by ordering that I clean his entire room, do all his laundry, polish all his armour, get his sword sharpened, draw him a bath _and_ get his dinner ready. All because I tried to help. Bloody man, stupid destiny. Although, he has a reason to be miserable, what with Uther in his current condition.

Meanwhile, I was almost finished scrubbing the floor. I had already made the beds, swept the floor, and put away all his clothes. Getting the more noticeable chores out of the way meant that I can (possibly) take my time with the others, and keep Arthur happy.

Oh, and speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Although, he didn't look very good. Actually, not good at all.

"What's up?" I asked, concerned.

He rubbed his face pensively. It was obvious Arthur was worried about something.

"An old friend of mine has been injured on their way to Camelot. I am releasing you of your chores, so that you can assist Gaius."

"Oh." This old friend, most likely a prince or a knight from another kingdom, must mean a lot to Arthur, if he's so concerned. I wonder how long they've known each other, if they have any embarrassing stories about Arthur that they'd be willing to share. Once they're healed, of course. As if I'd badger the man in his ill-health.

I stood up, brushed my knees, and made my way to the door. I stopped and turned towards Arthur, who was now sat on his bed, chin in his hands. "Will you be alright?"

"Once she's better, then I'll be alright."

I nodded, and only realised once I was halfway down the corridor.

"She?"

* * *

I should mention, this story is happening (currently) just before the episode 'The Wicked Day' 4x03, and the Wyvern attack mentioned happened in the 'Darkest Hour'.

Thanks for reading,

CaChrisSo


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